


Warm Shadow

by musicalfreak86



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalfreak86/pseuds/musicalfreak86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU season one story. What if before Rick found his way to the camp there was another survivor who stumbled across the group unawares? Michonne and Andrea-centric, though the other characters are prominent too. Eventual Michandrea. Changed the rating to M mostly for language right now.<br/>(Old fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is also on a semi-hiatus, but I do intend to get back to it!
> 
> I do not own the Walking Dead.

She has been watching the camp for several days now. It's been easy for her to hide in the woods, being that she is naturally silent and this group is not the most observant though they like to pretend that they are. It would be even easier if she didn't have her walkers growling softly and clanking their chains, agitated at being so close to live meat. She keeps them despite their threat of giving her away. They offer almost as much protection as her sword, which makes keeping them around worth the hassle.

She has thought about making her presence known to the camp. She has always been a loner, but something about the security of a group is tempting. There are other people to watch your back and collect food. She doesn't really care about the company—she does just fine on her own. However one doesn't come across security like this every day.

By this point she feels as though she knows the people in the camp personally. Even though she has only been here a few days, she is observant and has picked up on a lot of small details that the group probably doesn't even register about each other. She knows the "leader" of the group, a former cop with dark hair and strong facial features. His big ears amuse her as much as she can be amused at this point. She isn't a fan of cops but she can't help but respect their work. She had enough dealings with them thanks to her boyfriend that she feels she has no choice but to respect their work. She gives her chains an irritated tug and her walkers grumble as they stumble forward, their balance off because of their missing arms. She lets a small smirk cross her face. They got what they deserved anyway.

She knows the family with the abusive husband. He makes her sick to her stomach when he beats his wife. It's despicable, and no human should get away with it. But what really makes her furious is the way he looks at his little girl. She had children herself (and her heart still contracts painfully in her chest when she thinks of them) and the idea of a child's father looking at them in that way makes her want to take the man's head off with her bare hands. She has had to restrain herself many times so she wouldn't reveal herself through murder.

She knows the mother and two children who are waiting desperately for their father to come back. There seems to be a small part of this group that has gone on a mission to Atlanta for what sounds like are much needed supplies. The city is extremely dangerous, as she well knows. She lived in the city before the world went to hell, and at the first sign of an outbreak (her boyfriend coming home with a fever and waking up the next morning drooling and groaning and trying to eat her was definitely a sign), she left the city and opted for the wooded areas instead. At least she had some cover in the trees.

She wonders alongside the small group of survivors if their family and friends will make it back at all. Over the past few days she has been drawn in to their feverish waiting game, and finds herself intrigued despite herself. Maybe she will wait around just a little longer. Just to see if they make it back.

She knows the older man and college age blonde who are almost equally concerned for the blonde's older sister. She herself doesn't have any siblings so she finds herself unable to relate. She wonders if the two women are the old man's daughters. The dynamic doesn't seem quite right between him and the remaining blonde, but she otherwise can't figure out their relationship. He doesn't talk about the absent woman as though she is his wife.

She also knows the woman and her son who lost a husband and father when the outbreak first started. From what she has pieced together from hushed conversations that are hidden from the boy, his father was in a coma in the hospital when they had to flee the city. She thinks that must be the hardest loss of all. It's one thing to know that your loved one is dead for sure (she gives the chain another irritable yank at the thought, relishing in the sound of the aggrivated walkers behind her), but not knowing what grisly end they may have faced is a whole new level of nightmare. The broken family seems to be in a permanent state of low-key grieving, though she has also observed the woman sneaking off with the former cop. This also makes her angry, and her heart aches for the little boy who sits alone during these times.

But all in all they seem to have a good system here, despite their individual faults. They are human after all, and their humanness is exactly what has kept her around for this amount of time. Normally she would have left long ago. Deep down she knows that this is not the place for her. She knows that she does better on her own, and she is just preparing to move on when suddenly one of her walkers crumples to the ground, the chain going slack in her hand.

She whirls around, pulling out her sword with practiced precision, and comes face to face with a crossbow aimed right between her eyes.

"What kinda crazy bitch are you?" asks the man behind the weapon. His voice registers more surprise and awe than anger, but the anger is still there.

Before she can move or even draw a breath, the crossbow shifts and her other walker falls beside the first one. She keeps her sword out, ready and armed, but remains still because she knows that his weapon is much faster than hers. She would have to take the time to swing while his finger is poised to end her life with the pull of a trigger.

"Drop the sword and put your hands up," he commands. She considers taking the swing anyway. She can move fast, and though his guard is up she thinks that if she moves just so she can at least take the arrow in an arm or leg instead of in the head.

"I said drop the damn sword," he repeats, moving closer so that her opportunity is gone. She drops it and it clatters noisily to the ground beside her fallen walkers. In the blink of an eye all her defenses are gone and she glares daggers at the man who picks up her sword.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now," he challenges, his eyes narrowed to match her expression. She doesn't speak. He might look tough, but she can see in his eyes that he wouldn't actually kill her. Disable her maybe, but not kill her. Still, she is at a disadvantage here with no weapon so she chooses to remain silent. He takes an aggressive step forward and if she weren't so angry she would roll her eyes at the obvious bluff. She can see the gears turning in his head when she doesn't flinch or even blink.

"Move," he commands, urging her forward with his bow firmly trained on the back of her head. She has no choice but to turn and walk in the direction of the camp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Walking Dead.

_She hears crying. She can't tell which direction it's coming from. It's familiar crying, though she has never heard it as desperate as it sounds now, and she feels tears streaming down her cheeks though she doesn't even notice that they are there. She must find the source of the crying. Before it's too late._

_And then suddenly it is too late. The crying escalates until it becomes a wail and then a skriek that is joined by a second familiar voice. It goes on for several seconds as she speeds up until she thinks the muscles in her legs are going to burst. And then all of a sudden the voices are abruptly cut off with a muffled choke that she can barely hear, as though someone muted a television. Everything goes silent._

_The woods are so silent._

*****

He marches her back to the camp, his crossbow trained on her back like she is some sort of dangerous criminal. She is furious. She has done nothing but draw her sword to protect herself. He shot down her walkers, her property, and now he has his damned greasy hands all over her sword. If anyone is a danger here, it is him. In the back of her mind she can't help but acknowledge that she herself probably would have done the same had she found herself in his shoes, but her temper has always taken hold of her sane mind and this instance is no exception.

And he is marching her around like she is his prisoner. She is not his prisoner nor his property. She has never been that to anyone in her life. Not her boyfriend, not her children (though they come the closest to being able to claim the title and it makes her heart hurt again), and certainly not this strange man who has changed her life in the blink of an eye. She realizes that she still has her hands up and more for the sake of dignity than anything else she drops them slowly. It's bad enough that she is being taken into the camp with a crossbow at her back. She doesn't want these people's first image of her to be with her hands in the air. As though she herself is acknowledging that she has done something wrong.

But she feels the point of the arrow jab her in the back again and she hisses.

"I want to see your hands," he commands, jabbing her again. She can feel her pulse speed up as she sees red, but she lifts her hands anyway. She hates the idea of being at anyone's mercy.

She knows where they are going, but she is almost sure that he doesn't know she knows. She has kept her distance from the camp, not wanting them to know she was there for exactly this reason. She has been so careful only to get closer when she knows it is safe and she won't be discovered. But she hadn't accounted for this random hillbilly with a crossbow out lurking in the woods.

He is muttering under his breath, and what she can catch of what he is saying is none too kind to either her race or her sex. She is beginning to think that she may end up taking an arrow after all if this continues. Once her temper takes control she has a hard time being reasonable about anything, and this man is definitely not being reasonable in the slightest. (She still has to quiet that inner voice that tells her she would do the same thing, or worse, if she were in his shoes.)

However, before either of them lose any important body parts they emerge into a clearing and the hillbilly is yelling for someone named Shane.

*****

If there is anything she hates more than being treated like a prisoner, it's being interrogated. She finds the endless questions pointless and none of the outside party's business. Which is why for the past twenty or so minutes she has been sitting there silent as the former cop (whose name she now knows is Shane) gets more and more irritated at her unwillingness to speak.

She knows this must be infuriating, especially to someone who used to do this as a living. But at the moment she couldn't possibly care less. How will it help him any to know her name, where she came from, what she was doing so close to the camp? How will it help him any when all she wants is for them to let her go so she can finish living out this half life in her own way?

She watches as he sighs is frustration and runs a hand through his thick dark hair. He really is an attractive man, even if his ears _are_ too big. As angry as she still is, she has to hold back a smirk at the thought. It's tempting, mostly because she knows it would aggravate him even more. She isn't sure when the idea of irritating her captors became a good one, but she mentally shakes herself to get the thought out of her head. She needs to focus. She needs to get out of here.

Suddenly, the sound of a car alarm approaches. Everyone's heads turn, and the older man who has been keeping watch all this time pulls out a pair of binoculars. When the sound gets closer instead of fading like they were all hoping, Shane sighs and repeats the motion again, his hair now standing slightly on end. He looks at her hard. She can tell from the look in his eyes that he is trying to figure out what to do with her. She stares him down with the same intensity, unwavering and unblinking. She knows she isn't doing anything to help her case, but since when has she been entirely logical in a situation like this?

Not that she has been in many situations like this.

Before she has the time to even think he has removed his handcuffs from his belt and looped one end around her wrist and the other around the pole that supports the awning on the RV. She opens her mouth to finally say something (or shout something, more like), but he has already gone to stand with the others and watch the approach of the bright red sports car.

From her place on the ground by the RV, she has a limited view of what is going on. But even with her small range of sight she can tell that the other half of the group has finally returned. She hears a lot of very happy voices, and can see more as they approach the RV.

The first person she sees is a blonde woman who runs into the embrace of the younger girl. So this must be the older sister that was so worried over. She can't really see much of her features; her face is buried in her sister's shoulder. They have a similar frame though, so this must be the sister.

She also sees the husband and father of the woman with the two children. She watches them embrace and looks away when she sees the children leap into his arms. It's still too soon for her. Far too soon.

Instead she looks at the mother and son who lost the man when this whole thing started. The mother has pulled her son to the side and she watches as she tries to console him. She knows that there is no use even trying, though her own maternal instinct is still strong enough that she knows she too would try had she been in this woman's shoes. Once a child has seen as much as this boy has surely seen there is no consoling them. She has come to find that children have memories like bear traps and hearts that are almost impossible to harden.

But she finds that she eats her words when the boy's head turns, having caught sight of a familiar form out of the corner of his eye. She watches his face change quickly from despair to shock and disbelief to utter joy. He shouts for his father and takes off running, hitting one of the men who emerged from the truck at full force. They sink to the ground in a cloud of dust and tears and she suddenly realizes that a few tears of her own have made their appearance. It seems that today is determined to put her through the emotional wringer.

No one is looking at her, so she dries her eyes on the hem of her tank and settles instead for looking at the ground. She stays that way for a long time, and when she finally looks back up the group has gone their separate ways to catch up and tend to their returned soldiers.

She has been left in the dirt, alone.

*****

After a while the campsite gets busy again as the group emerges to begin preparing for dinner. Food has been scarce since the world went to hell, but this little group of survivors seems to be doing pretty well for itself. She noted that as she watched them from the cover of the trees.

The sun has shifted now and the awning does nothing to shade her from the fierce glare. She began sweating ages ago, and she can feel herself dehydrating. She has thought several times about calling out to the survivors to remind them that she is still here. She doesn't think that they would be cruel enough to leave her purposefully, but in the euphoria of their reunion they seem to have forgotten her presence. And the returning group has been so distracted that she doubts they have even seen her.

However her pride has not allowed her to call out, and she soon hears a discussion being had around the corner that tells her that have not quite forgotten about her.

"What should we do with her?" she recognizes the voice as Shane's. He is the only survivor whose name she knows, and she clings to that knowledge as a connection to humanity, though she won't admit it to herself.

"Well, we can't just leave her there," comes another voice. She recognizes this voice too, but she can't place a face with it. It's another man.

"No, of course not. But we can't trust her either. You heard what Daryl said. She was lurking around out there with walkers on leashes and a damned samurai sword," Shane's voice again. It makes her bristle with anger, hearing him talk about her like this. Daryl must be the man with the crossbow. He has made her sound like a threat, and she almost allows a growl to leave her throat. But she is distracted by another voice—a new one.

"Are you meaning to tell me you've just left her like that all day?" The new voice is a woman's, and she sounds angry herself.

"What else did you expect us to do?" Shane's voice again, sounding exasperated. He talks down to her as he would a child.

"Has she at least had some food and water?" comes the woman's voice again. There is a silence that follows, and she can almost see Shane's guilty face in her mind's eye. She thinks that they have dropped the argument and begins entertaining the idea of calling out again when a movement catches her eye.

The older blonde sister she remembers from earlier in the afternoon appears from around the corner of the RV carrying a metal bucket and cup. When she sets it down in front of Michonne water slops over the side and seeps into her jeans.

"Sorry," the blonde says, steadying the bucket and dipping the cup into it. Michonne can tell that she is still aggitated. She offers it to her and she takes it warily. "It's not poisoned," the blonde says. She is an impatient one. Michonne lifts the cup to her mouth, not taking her eyes off the woman for a second. But the blonde gives her a small smile as she drains the cup. She takes it and refills it, passing it back to her.

"I'm sorry they left you here like this," she says, dropping her eyes to the ground. "They can be stupid when they don't know how to handle a situation." She looks up and meets Michonne's eyes over the rim of the cup. "I'm Andrea."

Michonne says nothing. She didn't answer Shane's questions and she sees no reason to give this woman anything either. Sure, she is the first person who has treated her semi-decently since she got here, but she doesn't owe her anything. They are her captors, not the other way around, and all she wants to do is leave.

The blonde sighs, refilling the cup a second time. "You should come get something to eat. With the rest of us. They have no reason to keep you here like this." She passes the cup back to Michonne. "Shane!" she yells suddenly, and if Michonne were the type to jump the water would have ended up down her front instead of in her mouth.

The former cop appears around the RV looking harried. He takes in the blonde's proximity to Michonne and sighs. "Andrea..."

"You need to let her go," her tone has a certain authority to it, but Michonne can tell that Shane is preparing to disregard it. "She needs to eat and you can't just leave her here tied up like an animal." Shane sighs again and looks like he is gearing up for an argument. Andrea ignores him and turns back to Michonne. "You aren't going to hurt anyone. Right?"

Michonne takes her in. Her mouth is set in a determined line and her brows are furrowed. She has the appearance of someone who wants to think they're tough but on the inside is actually naive. She almost gives a derisive snort at the fact that this woman is prepared to take her word for anything when she could so easily lie. But she has no reason to lie and this may be the only way she will get out of these handcuffs and find the opportunity to leave.

"I don't harm the living unless I have to," she mutters, her eyes on the ground instead of on the woman crouched in front of her. The blonde looks up at Shane expectantly as though Michonne's words are more than enough evidence of her innocence. Michonne again finds herself struggling to supress her impatience at the blonde's trusting demeanor.

Shane too looks as though he has had just about enough of this whole scene. But he sighs and pulls a key out of his pocket. He tosses it to Andrea and she catches it with ease. She gives him a sweet smile which he ignores, choosing instead to focus on Michonne.

"Pull anything," he says, and the warning in his voice is real. "And you will be right back in these cuffs." She says nothing, glaring up at him in a way she knows she shouldn't when he just gave her (possibly temporary) freedom. He walks away, presumably to join the others in preparing for dinner.

Andrea rolls her eyes at his back and leans across Michonne to unlock the cuff. Michonne's eyes widen a little at her sudden proximity. This woman is very trusting. A little too trusting in Michonne's opinion. She knows she isn't a threat, but Andrea doesn't.

When the cuffs click open she rubs her wrist. She hasn't been struggling against them, but they still have managed to make her wrist raw.

"Come get something to eat," Andrea says, looking at her with a smile. After a moment's hesitation Michonne gets up and follows her toward the rest of the group.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Walking Dead.

Michonne can't help but admit to herself that the warmth of the fire is more than welcome. Even though the day was so hot, they have reached that strange time of year when it can still get chilly at night. And though the "fire" is nothing but glowing embers it still gives off enough heat to be better than nothing at all.

The food is not great, but she is the last person to be heard complaining, and what can she expect from post-apocalyptic food anyway? She can't deny that it's better than her own diet of late. She has been living off of an assortment of nuts and berries since her own supply of food ran out. She has trained herself over the past few months to eat less and less, and once she was on her own the food went much slower anyway. But she chooses not to think about the reason she has had more food to herself.

Instead she brings herself back to earth and begins listening to the conversation she had been previously tuning out. The new man, another former cop who used to work with Shane it seems, is talking. She thinks he may be telling the group about his experiences before coming to Atlanta and finding them again. She is interested, but doesn't let on. Not that anyone is paying much attention to her anyway.

Well, except Shane that is. Though she has been tuning the conversation out, she has not missed the fact that he is keeping a sharp eye on her. She once again fights the urge to make a face. What does he think she is going to do? Attack them all with her spoon?

She focuses instead on the new man and his family, forcing herself to listen to the conversation. His wife and son are all over him and he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. She understands. As she watches him stroke his son's hair she can't help but think that she would give just about anything in the world to have her own two babies back, climbing all over her and pulling her hair. She tenses at the unexpected wave of sadness that washes over her, looking back down at her food and once again blocking out both the conversation and the sight of the man's family.

She stays tuned out, something she has discovered she is very good at, until she hears them begin bickering about a man that got left behind on their trip to Atlanta. She looks up suddenly, surprised to hear them talking of such a thing. She has gotten the impression from their lighthearted attitude (or at least, as lighthearted as people can be nowadays) that everyone had made it back safe and sound. At least, there had been no mourning that she saw. She soon comes to learn that they did leave a man behind, chained to the roof of a department store.

"One thing's for certain," says Shane. "We're lucky that Daryl went back out to finish his hunt after bringing her in." He gestures haphazardly toward Michonne as though she isn't even there. She gives him a glare that is lost on him completely. It's not lost on Andrea, who gives her a 'just ignore him' look without saying a word. Michonne ignores her too, looking back down at her food. She is getting irritated again, both at Shane for acting as though she is some sort of dangerous animal who needs to be locked up, and at Andrea, who seems to have decided they share some sort of bond just because she brought her water when she was thirsty. Which also just happens to have been Shane's fault.

She can't get away from this group fast enough.

She chooses not to tune back out of their conversation this time though, and soon learns that the man was making himself into some sort of threat to the rest of the group and that they handcuffed him to the roof as a safety precaution. Then another of their men dropped the key to the handcuffs. She listens to them argue back and forth about who is to blame and is relieved when the boy starts yawning and his mother decides it's time for bed. Her declaration seems to apply to the whole group because everyone begins getting up and clearing their places. Shane stomps out the fire and turns to Michonne. He sighs and reaches for his handcuffs.

Before he can speak a word or even take a step toward Michonne the boy's mother looks up.

"What are you doing?" she asks. Several of the others look up, their attention regained.

Shane turns to look at her and lets out an exasperated chuckle. He moves in closer to the woman and Michonne wonders if she is reading into their proximity. When he speaks it's in a low tone as though he is trying to keep the rest of the group from hearing their conversation. "What's it look like I'm doing? I have to restrain her. You heard how she was lurking around out there. Don't tell me you want me to let her go?"

By this point several of the others have completely abandoned all pretenses of cleaning up and are listening intently.

"You can't just leave her there all night," Andrea speaks up. She sounds as though she is gearing up for a disagreement like the one she and Shane had earlier over the exact same issue. Her sister steps up next to her and agrees, making Shane's face darken a little.

"I dunno man," says the man who is responsible for losing the keys and leaving another human to the mercy of walkers. "Shane has a point here."

"Shane does not have a point," the boy's mother says. "Think of the other things that could be lurking around out here at night. If not a walker, then what about wild animals? You want to leave her restrained and unarmed against whatever might feel like coming out of these woods?" She puts her hand on her little boy's shoulder in a comforting gesture and drops her voice so it's almost a whisper. "Shane..."

"And it gets cold at night," pipes up the younger blonde, looping an arm through her sister's. "You can't leave her out in the cold."

Shane is getting aggravated and clearly feels outnumbered. He looks down at Michonne who looks back up at him without saying a word. She has not gotten up from her place on the ground. "Look," he says, and his voice has raised a few notches. "I can only do so much! I'm only human. And I will do what I need to do to keep this camp safe. I—" He falters and looks to the other cop, his partner. "Come on, man, what else am I supposed to do?"

The other man opens his mouth to speak but before he can he is interrupted.

"You can let her stay with me." The speaker is a thin black woman Michonne hadn't paid much attention to before. There are too many people for her to take in and this woman has a soft voice.

Shane sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Michonne is beginning to notice that this is a bad habit of his that makes it really obvious when he is exasperated. He looks at the woman and visibly deflates. "Jacqui, come on. You can't be serious. Do you really think we would let you—do you know how dangerous that is?"

When she looks at him her eyes are hard and full of defiance and Michonne doesn't know why she didn't notice her before. There is a strength that radiates off of her that she can't help but respect. She is strong, but she is not cold. "I'm the only woman in this camp with a tent to herself. I don't have have anyone to look after but myself. And I know how to take care of myself. Let her stay with me. She won't pull anything." She looks Michonne directly in the eye when she says this, as though she is challenging her to say otherwise. Michonne says nothing but holds her gaze. She doesn't glare. Not like she does with Shane.

Shane looks around at the others as though silently asking for backup. When no one says anything he sighs again. "Fine," he says. "Fine. But be careful. If anything happens, shout for one of us. There's always someone up on watch." He steps closer to her and lowers his voice. "Don't let your guard down."

Jacqui shrugs him off and approaches Michonne. The others begin to disperse to their own tents. Andrea squeezes Jacqui's shoulder as she passes and gives Michonne a smile that she ignores.

"Come on," Jacqui says, offering Michonne a hand which she also ignores. The woman doesn't seem fazed, instead turning toward a small grey tent that sits in a cluster of other ones. "We'll find you a sleeping bag."

Michonne rises to follow her but stops in her tracks when she feels someone tap her on the small of her back. She turns, fully expecting some kind of argument, to see the little boy standing behind her looking up with that innocence only children possess. Innocence she knows won't last in a world like this.

"My dad says you have a sword," he says, getting straight to the point. His eyes are bright with curiosity and he seems completely unfazed by her hard demeanor that alarms the others so. "Can I see it?"

"Carl," his mother says abruptly, realizing that her son is no longer by her side. She looks at Michonne and there is fright registering on her face. Michonne barely spares her half a glance, her full attention on the boy and his incredible childishness that she finds she has been missing a lot more than she thought. "Don't bother her, come on. It's time for bed."

Carl turns his head to look at her, but his feel remain firmly planted where he stands. Michonne can see the excitement fading from his face and she crouches down so she is on his level.

"I don't have my sword right now, but I do have one," she says, looking him in the eye. His face brightens and she allows the ghost of a smile to emerge. She missed that so much—the smile of a child and the chance to let a smile grace her own lips.

"Where is it?" he asks. His attention is on her and only her. He completely ignores his mother who is looking increasingly nervous as she watches the exchange happening before her. He looks up at Michonne as though she is the most fascinating person he has ever met and her heart warms at the sweetness of the child standing before her. She reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Your friend Shane borrowed it for a little while," she says, managing to keep the bitterness out of her voice for the sake of the boy. "But when he gives it back I'll be sure you're the first to know." She gives his shoulder a light squeeze and he absolutely beams.

"Sweet!" he exclaims. "I'm going to tell Sophia!" He turns and runs back to his mother's side. Suddenly remembering his manners, he turns back to her. "Thank you!" he says, and she gives him a small nod. The boy's mother is looking at Michonne with wide eyes, and Michonne meets her gaze as the smile slowly fades from her lips. After a moment of uncomfortable eye contact the woman turns and follows her son into the tent the freshly reunited family shares.

Michonne stands up from where she was crouched on the ground and turns to see Jacqui watching her intently.

"So you do know how to talk," she says with a smirk on her face. Michonne says nothing, only follows her back to where her tent is. She ducks inside after the other woman and looks at the space. It is a small tent, which is understandable being that it usually has only one occupant. Michonne doesn't take up much space when she sleeps anyway. Normally she curls up as tightly as possible, both for the feeling of protection and to keep her body heat in.

Jacqui is busy preparing another sleeping bag for her new tentmate. Michonne watches her silently.

"You know, the group would probably accept you a lot faster if you would just speak up," she says, not even bothering to look at Michonne. She is straightening the corners of the sleeping bag so that they will be able to fit side by side in the small tent. "I heard you talking to Carl. If you let Shane see that he would be much more willing to trust you." She meets Michonne's eye and notices the look she is getting. "Or give you your sword back and send you on your way." The statement resonates with Michonne, though the only way she shows it is by furrowing her brow. "It's a good group of people," Jacqui continues speaking despite her companion's silence. "I mean, if we take in people like the Dixon brothers there's no way we could be anything but a good group."

Michonne doesn't know or care who she is talking about. She is too deep in her own thought by this point. She sits down on her sleeping bag and begins slipping her shoes off. Though she doesn't show it, she is thinking about what Jacqui has just told her. And about the little boy who was just looking at her as though she were some kind of superwoman.

"Michonne," she mumbles after a long silence. Jacqui looks up in surprise at the sound of the woman's voice. "I'm Michonne."

A small smile appears on Jacqui's face, though she tries unsuccessfully to hide it. "Glad to hear it Michonne," she replies. She avoids trying to shake hands or comment on how pretty the name is. "I'm Jacqui. We never officially exchanged names."

Michonne nods and lies down on top of her sleeping bag. It's chilly tonight but she is not used to being restrained at all while sleeping. So instead she uses it as a cushion between herself and the ground. She rolls to face away from the other woman, wondering why she is here and why she has chosen to trust her enough to sleep by her. She feels that she should be more on her guard, but the haze of sleep is coming to take her over already and she tries to give in to it. She can hear Jacqui rustling around behind her and soon the small lantern that was their only light dims and winks out.

Jacqui herself is almost completely at ease. Seeing Michonne with Carl proved to her that though the woman has some very thick walls built up, she is still just as human as the rest of them. Before she drifts off, she smiles, thinking that maybe Michonne isn't quite as bad as Shane thinks she is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Walking Dead.

_"What the hell happened to you?"_

_"I got into a fight, that's all. Just a bar fight. I'm fine."_

_"You are not fine, you're bleeding. You're—are you running a fever? Damnit, I thought we were through with this. I thought you were through with this."_

_"I told you it was just a damned bar fight. Why don't you shut up and do something useful? Get me a damned rag."_

_"You promised."_

_"Will you just get me the damned rag?"_

_"Fuck."_

_"That's right. Now how about you run a bath and then you can take care of me. Real good care of me."_

_"Mommy?"_

_"What are you doing up? Everything's alright. Go back to bed."_

_"What happened to Daddy?"_

_"He's fine sweetheart. Go back to bed before your sister wakes up, ok?"_

_"Are you going to take care of Daddy?"_

_"Yes baby, now please go back to bed. I love you."_

_"I love you too Mommy."_

_"Yeah, 'Mommy.' You're gonna take real good care of 'Daddy' now, aren't you?"_

Michonne awakens with a start. She stares at the canvas of the top of the tent, wondering where she is. She doesn't even realize at first that she is breathing hard. She doesn't get disconcerted like this often, but the events of the past twenty-four hours have been more than enough to throw even someone as collected as her off of their game.

The end of the world has come. That sounds melodramatic, but she realizes that it describes the situation best. The end of the world has come and she has lived through it. She is free from the hell that was her old life, but she has been reborn into a brand new hell in its place. Everything she knew from before is gone.

But for the first time in months she is not alone.

Before she can allow that thought to carry her any further she sits up and pushes she sleeping bag off of her. She doesn't know how she managed to get into it during the night when she knows she began the night on top of it. She isn't usually one to move around a lot in her sleep, but she also had a restless night, plagued by strange memories that came to her half in a haze so she didn't know exactly what she was seeing. She finds herself a little glad for that haze.

She leaves the tent as quietly as possible so as not to wake Jacqui. The woman was kind enough to share her tent with a complete stranger. The least Michonne can do is let the her continue to sleep.

She steps outside the tent and stretches, wincing a little when she hears her joints pop. Sleeping on the ground for the past few months has not done her body any good, but she figures that she is lucky that stiff joints are all her body has suffered so far.

She needs to find Shane. Her mind has made the decision almost before she realizes it and she scans the campground for him. Most of the survivors are awake and beginning the day's chores, but Shane is nowhere to be seen. She is distracted for a moment by how strange it is that they still have chores. As soon as this apocalypse hit the only thing that was on her mind was staying alive. But here is this group of people making breakfast and washing and drying clothes. It's almost as though they are living a normal life, safely tucked away from the chaos of the rest of the world.

The problem with a situation this perfect is that it never lasts.

"Hey!" Her thoughts are cut short when someone calls out from behind her. She turns around to see the little boy's mother waving her over from where they had all eaten the night before. She remembers the group stomping the fire out before they went to bed, but apparently they have coaxed a small fire back out of the ashes. The woman has a metal poker in her hand and she uses it to prod the blackened pile. A few sparks fly up as the ashes shift. Michonne wonders for a fleeting moment who thought to grab a poker on their way out of their house. But she can't deny that it was a good idea.

She makes her way over to the little campfire, receiving both smiles and distrustful looks from people as she passes. Andrea gives her a particularly bright smile and when the younger girl sees who has caught her sister's attention she gives Michonne a small wave. She returns the gesture with a nod of her head.

She sits down in the same spot she occupied the night before. Almost immediately the dark haired woman holds out a bowl for her to take. It's warm and appears to be oatmeal.

"I wanted to thank you," she says, dropping her gaze from Michonne's awkwardly. "For being so nice to Carl last night. I appreciate it. You don't even know him, but you were very kind." She laughs. "That damned sword is the only thing he has talked about all night and all morning."

"It was nothing," Michonne mumbles, stirring the contents of the bowl to let it cool some.

The woman eyes her for a moment as though she is expecting her to say something more. But she is quickly learning that this is a woman of few words, so she smiles again. It's a little strained this time. "I'm Lori. I—I'm sorry you've had a less than warm welcome. People are just worried, you know?" She sighs, frustrated that she can't find the words to defend her group a little better. "My husband likes you though. And Carl, I think you're his new favorite person." Her smile looks a little more natural as she talks about her family.

"I'm Michonne," she says quietly. She takes a bite of the oatmeal. It's actually pretty good for a meal made over a campfire. "Thank you." She appreciates it more than she lets on. She had forgotten what it was like to be with a group of people who actually care, but she pushes the thought away. She can't get interested in this group. She needs to leave. She doesn't want to be with other people and watch them get taken from her too. She will do much better on her own.

Lori opens her mouth to say something else but is distracted when the sound of a car cuts through the air. Everyone in the camp turns around to see Shane drive up with a jeep full of water from the quarry. He reminds everyone to boil it and gets down from the vehicle.

Michonne starts to get up. She wants to make an appeal. She wants to tell him that if he will give her her sword back that she will be on her way and none of them ever have to see her again. There is a strange tug at her heart as she thinks about this choice, but she ignores it. If she is going to do this it needs to be now.

But she stops when she sees Lori's husband cut Shane off before she can even fully stand up. She slowly sits back down. They are close enough that she can hear their conversation and she tries to look inconspicuous so she can listen to what they are saying.

"I'm going back for Merle," she hears him say. "I can't just leave him there on the roof like that. And I dropped my bag of guns in the city. I need to get that bag."

She hears Shane let out an amused snort. "So you're telling me that you're going to risk your life and the lives of everyone in this group so you can go back for a racist redneck and a bag of guns." She can tell from his tone that they are picking up the conversation from where they must have left it the night before after most of the group had gone to bed.

"I told you. It's more than just a bag of guns. I owe it to Morgan and his son. I told him that I would try to call through to him at dawn. He can't ride into the city like I did Shane. Not with his son in tow and no one out there to rescue them like Glenn rescued me. And I can't have Merle's blood on my hands either. Those are my cuffs keeping him on that roof," the man is getting agitated now, she can hear it. She takes a bite of her oatmeal. She chews slowly, trying to look like she isn't listening in. In reality she can't even taste the food anymore because of how hard she is listening to the two men.

"And T-Dog is the one who dropped the keys!" Shane bursts out, no longer careful to keep his voice quiet. "This isn't all on you man. You can't always play the hero." His voice lowers again, aware of the other people in the camp. "What about Lori and Carl? Are you just gonna turn your back on them now? Are you just gonna leave?"

"I'm not turning my back on anyone," the man replies angrily. "There are three people out there right now who could die because of me. I don't know how you could live with that on your conscience, but I can't."

There is a moment of silence before she hears Shane's voice again. "Fine. Fine, I—"

But she never gets to hear his opinion on the matter because at that moment there is a scream from the woods. Everyone in the camp drops what they are doing and she sees panic on Lori's face.

Michonne feels her heart stop. Those screams. Children's screams. They sound so familiar.

Before she knows what she is doing she has picked up the metal poker that Lori was using to stoke the fire. She takes off after the rest of the group that has already passed her in their hurry to find the children. She overtakes them easily in her panic. In her mind the screams are coming from her own babies and in her fury she sees red.

The boy, Carl, and the little girl from the abused family come running toward their parents. She doesn't even stop to check if they are alright before rushing ahead and catching up with the men who have stopped to stare at the sight before them.

There is a walker eating a felled deer in the clearing. All the men are staring at it as though they have never seen one before and she scoffs at them inwardly. Before anyone can move to stop her she darts forward and plunges the poker through the walker's head. It slumps to the ground and she stabs it several more times for good measure. When she stops she is breathing hard and her knuckles pale from holding the poker so tightly.

Someone behind her clears their throat and she suddenly remembers where she is. The red fades from her vision as she turns around to face the group. The men are all staring at her as though she beamed down from a spaceship. Being the center of attention makes her feel strange, but she steps forward anyway.

She stops right in front of Lori's husband and stares him in the eye. It's the most eye contact she has held with anyone in the group so far and she doesn't let it waver.

"Take me wth you to the city," she says to him, ignoring Shane's outraged face in her peripheral vision. "I'll help get you back alive." She turns her gaze to Shane. His face is a mixture of anger and a little fear. She got splattered pretty thoroughly in killing the walker and can only assume that she is a pretty ghastly sight. She honestly couldn't care less. "If I get him back alive then you can trust me enough to let me leave."

Shane says nothing but his expression tells her that he does not like the idea. She blocks him out again and looks at the rest of the group. The first eyes she locks on are Andrea's.

"Are the children alright?" she asks. While she is here she wants to know that they are safe. She couldn't keep her own babies safe, but it's a comfort to know that there is still some innocence left in this world.

"Fine," Andrea replies. Her gaze is intent enough to make Michonne a little uncomfortable. There is something there that she can't quite place. It almost looks like intrigue. She sees the woman's eyes flicker to the blood on her body and back up to her face. Michonne refuses to drop her eyes despite her discomfort. She is tired of being ignored in this camp. Considered enough of a threat that they can't let her go, but not enough to be respected. "They're both fine." Her sister looks a little sick at the sight of the dead walker and Andrea puts a hand on her shoulder. She holds the eye contact for one more drawn out moment before breaking it to guide her sister away from the scene.

Before Michonne can even process her relief that the children are alright there is more rustling in the bushes. She whirls around, holding the poker as though it were her sword. The whole group scans the treeline, waiting for another walker to emerge.

Instead, the man who brought her to the camp comes stomping out. For half a second she considers hitting him with the poker anyway, but if she is going to gain enough trust to get away from this place then she can't let her anger get the best of her.

He begins ranting and raving about the loss of the deer and she tunes out. The trip to Atlanta will be very dangerous, she knows that. She tells herself that the only reason she volunteered to go was to gain the trust of the group and get away from here once and for all.

But in reality, she can't stand the idea of three more people, one of them a child, dying at the hands of the undead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Walking Dead.

"Why did you let this crazy bitch come with us?"

Michonne sits in the back of the truck with the men whose names she has learned are Daryl, Rick, T-Dog, and Glenn, who is driving. Her newly returned sword rests across her lap in its sheath, a mirror image of Daryl's crossbow resting across his. The truck bumps and sways as they go; traffic rules are a thing of the past. Daryl is unaffected by the rough cadence of the ride, instead staring at her with an expression that clearly says that he does not think she should have been given her sword back. She glares back at him, choosing to ignore his choice of language in favor of keeping peace with the rest of the group.

Rick gives him a look just as icy as her own and also ignores him, turning to look at Michonne instead. She had no choice but to tell them her name since they are allowing her to go along on this little trip. She didn't like doing it, being that the only reason she is going along is so they will trust her enough to leave. The less they know about her the better, and vice versa. She remains in denial to herself that she actually cares. She doesn't care. She can't. If she cares about these people, the mothers, the children, Jacqui, the pair of sisters, all waiting for their safe return back at the camp, then she knows she won't want to leave. Her heart is already trying to tell her to stay while her head is telling her to leave and not look back.

"So what did you do before the shit hit the fan?" The man named Rick asks, breaking her train of thought. She turns her steely gaze on him. She doesn't answer, but his gaze doesn't falter. He watches her with interest. She is used to people getting uncomfortable under her cold stare, but his man shows no signs of discomfort.

"I work alone," she says, hoping he will get the picture that she does not want this subject broached. "All I'm asking is for your group to let me leave in peace."

Rick continues to stare even after she has so obviously closed the subject and it makes her very uncomfortable. She refuses to drop her gaze, though if she were the type to turn red under scrutiny she knows she would. She feels like he is reading her and she has to concentrate on not squirming. She refuses to show any weakness, and slowly her body stiffens more and more and she isn't able to relax until he gives an almost imperceivable nod and his focus shifts to Daryl. He gives the man a 'leave it alone' look and the redneck rolls his eyes and crawls into the passenger seat beside Glenn.

She knows that Rick has only just joined the group himself (in fact, she has been there longer than he has), but already his connection runs deep and he radiates such a level of authority that she wonders if Shane is in danger of being replaced. She wouldn't mind; she likes Rick much better than Shane.

Not that it will effect her once she leaves anyway.

*****

They remain in silence until suddenly the truck bumps to a stop and they hear Glenn's voice telling that they are going to have to walk from here. She doesn't question his judgment—the young man seems to have an extensive knowledge of the city and she can't even begin to guess how he acquired it.

He leaves the driver's seat and they hear him walking around the side of the truck. He slides the back open and light floods in, momentarily dazzling them. Michonne blinks away the stars in her vision and clambers out after Rick and T-Dog.

She takes a moment to observe her surroundings. It's sad really, the way the city looks now. She never considered herself to be sentimental about her home, and she certainly wouldn't let this group know that she has a single sentimental bone in her body. But looking at the wasteland it has turned into now makes her take a deep breath and look to her group instead. (Her group? No, they are not her group.)

The men are all busy with sorting out their weapons before entering the city. She sees guns being passed around and inwardly cringes at the idea of the loud sound they would make. She hopes they don't get into such a situation, because she knows a sound like that would attract all the walkers in the city and there would be no chance of getting out alive.

She straps her katana in its sheath across her back, reveling in the feel of the weight around her shoulders again. It's a feeling of security that she has missed more than she realized. She feels eyes on her again and looks up to see Daryl watching her. His eyes drift to the sword strapped to her back and she glares at him again. She is sick of this man acting like she is some sort of threat when he has done more wrong to her than she to him. With a sneer she turns and joins Rick and Glenn instead. They are standing a little separated from the group with their heads together talking about which way they should go.

"Which is closer?" Rick is asking. He is pouring over a map that he thought to bring, but Glenn isn't paying any attention to the map. He is turning in a slow circle, seeming to be trying to get his bearings. "Merle or the guns?"

"We ain't even having this conversation," Daryl bursts out, shoving past T-Dog to get to Rick. T-Dog looks like he wants to hit Daryl but refrains. "Merle first."

Glenn snaps out of his thoughts and turns back to the group. He eyes Daryl in a way that plainly says he doesn't want to agree with him but must. "Merle is closer. Going for the guns would mean doubling back. Merle first."

Rick nods, his brow furrowed. "You heard him," he says. "Let's move."

*****

It's a tense trip back to the shopping center that the group had been trapped in when Rick joined them. All but Michonne and Daryl are remembering what it felt like to be closed in with walkers on all sides. Their baser instincts tell them to turn and run in the opposite direction, but their consciences prove stronger than their fear and they force themselves to keep going.

Michonne herself is remembering what it was like trying to get out of the city when the plague first struck. Being on these familiar streets again brings back memories of the night of her family's escape and the following events that landed her here helping to protect these people she barely knows. She blocks the memories before they can manifest themselves fully. She can't afford to be distracted by images of the past now. It is much too important for her to be alert for both the group's safety and her own.

As they approach the heart of the city, Rick holds a finger to his lips and points down the street ahead of them. They all move in single file and peer down the main street at the front of the shopping center. There is a group of walkers milling around the entrance, having either gathered after Glenn drew the others away with the car alarm or returned to the location, drawn by the faint memory of a human smell. Michonne tenses, itching to draw her sword and feel the weight of it in her hands and the rush of killing walkers again. It has only been a day since the weapon was last in her possession, but her arm aches from the absence of it.

"Is there another way we can get in?" T-Dog asks, looking at Rick who in turn looks at Glenn.

"What about that alleyway you took me down to save me from the tank?" Rick asks, and Glenn peers around the corner worriedly. He draws back quickly when the walkers shift, beginning to catch their scent on the breeze. Michonne would find the look on the young man's face almost endearing if they weren't in such a dangerous situation and she weren't trying so hard not to become attached to these people.

"We could try, but it wouldn't be easy," Glenn begins, pressing his back against the brick wall and drawing a shaky breath. "There are a lot more of us this time and they're starting to catch on that we're here—"

"Screw y'all pussies!" Daryl says loudly, cutting Glenn off. He draws his crossbow and leaps around the corner, taking several shots. The walkers turn at the sudden noise and begin moving in a clump down the street toward the group. They stumble over the fallen, keeping a steady progression toward the smell of live meat.

"Oh shit," Rick says. He draws his gun but Michonne grabs his wrist. This is exactly what she was afraid of. One shot from that gun and the number of walkers will double in a matter of seconds. She shakes her head and draws her sword, silently hoping that the man won't choose this moment to be stubborn.

Rick looks at her for a moment before nodding and lowering the gun. She hopes his train of thought is following hers as he lowers the gun but doesn't put it away. She is glad that he is at least listening to her for the moment.

She steps up beside Daryl and braces herself, putting enough space between them that neither will be injured by the other's weapon (as much as she would love to take a swing at him and call it an accident). She knows that he can only move so fast with his crossbow. Despite the efficiency of the weapon he has to stop and recollect his arrows at frequent intervals. Not only does this slow him down, but it also makes him vulnerable.

Most of this will fall to her.

The walkers are slow, but in a group Michonne knows that their speed is deceiving. Once they close in you're very likely dead no matter how slow they move. As the dead approach she swings her sword, trying to keep them at bay before they can get too close. In the back of her mind she is concerned about Rick and his gun, worried that he will get alarmed and shoot despite her warning. She wants to keep the walkers far enough away that no one gets hurt and no one does anything stupid either.

Daryl's weapon is so much slower than hers, and she wonders if he realizes how screwed he would be if he were alone in this situation. Probably not. She knows his type. He doesn't like to admit that he needs help, especially help from a woman.

There are only a few walkers left in the crowd when a sudden biting pain cuts across her shoulder and she freezes, eyes wide with shock. A walker brushes against her as it falls to the ground, one of Daryl's arrows lodged into its skull. When she looks down at herself her heart jumps at the unexpected amount of blood that is running down her arm from her shoulder. She didn't see the walker get close enough to bite her, but though they are not clever they are very good at catching one off guard.

She looks up at the others, eyes begging a silent question. They are too focused on Daryl, who is pulling his arrows out of the fallen walkers' heads, to pay her much mind. Their expressions range from shock to fury as he slips the last arrow back into its sheath. When he looks up to see their eyes on him his gaze drifts to Michonne and her bleeding shoulder and wide eyes.

"Woman, would you chill?" he says with a sneer on his face. He adjusts his sheath on his back. "You ain't bit. You were in my way and my arrow grazed you." He shoves past her. "Watch it next time, would ya?"

Michonne glares at his retreating back, wishing that she had taken that swing and called it an accident after all. Rick approaches her and gently grabs her arm, having taken it upon himself to inspect the wound. She almost pulls away from him; she isn't a fan of physical contact. But a bolt of pain shoots through her arm and she hisses. It's not a deep wound, but it's not clean and needs disinfecting as soon as they can manage.

"Lucky thing that arrow was clean," he says, and Michonne catches on to what he is saying immediately. _Lucky there was no walker blood on it or our group would be one down._ She draws a deep breath, trying to calm her heart from racing at the thought. Rick pulls a clean handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wraps it around the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

"Can't have you fainting on us," he says quietly, and she would be angry at the comment if she couldn't tell that he does not intend to degrade her. She thinks maybe he is beginning to realize what an asset she can be to them, though she doesn't want to encourage that conclusion. Being an asset will only lead to tempting invitations to stay with the group, and she doesn't think she could stand that. Not when she is already struggling with herself about whether or not she should stay.

She meets his eye and almost allows a small smile to make an appearance. But before any real connection is made Glenn is telling them that they should really move on while there are no walkers. Michonne drops her eyes and follows Glenn, stepping carefully over the bodies of the fallen walkers. After a slight pause she hears Rick follow and vows not to let any more moments such as that one occur. She can't afford to get attached.

*****

The sight of the severed hand is gruesome enough to make one feel sick all on its own, but when the group stumbles across the iron Merle used to cauterize the wound Michonne has to fight to keep what little she ate for breakfast that morning. She doesn't usually have a weak stomach. In fact, she is one of the most unwavering people she has ever known. But the sight of the charred flesh still clinging to the metal along with the smell that still permeates the room and the wound on her shoulder having left her reeling is almost enough to do her in. She fights not to show any outward signs of weakness and as far as she can tell no one else in the group notices a difference. She does catch an expression on Glenn's face that mirrors how she is feeling and feels a small pang of sympathy for the young man. But she stops herself, reminding herself that sympathy leads to attachment and attachment will lead to her staying at the camp.

She notices vaguely that Rick and Daryl seem to be having yet another argument. She doesn't pay attention, choosing instead to lean against the wall and allow her eyes to slip shut for just a moment. Daryl has been on the verge of mutiny since they discovered Merle was gone and Michonne knows that she is not the only person in the group who is just about at the end of their rope. She listens to their angry voices as she struggles to get her bearings without looking the part. The wave of nausea slowly passes and she is more than relieved to see it go.

"Are you alright?" comes a voice from her right and she flinches away from the sound. T-Dog is looking at her with concern in his eyes and she finds that she doesn't appreciate the look. She nods curtly, her jaw clenched. He looks as though he is going to say something more but they both find themselves distracted when Glenn's voice cuts into the argument still going on to their left.

"This is what we need to do," he says, and she approaches as he begins mapping out an elaborate map of the city and showing them the route they need to take to find the guns. He talks for a while, moving little nick nacks that symbolize each of them along his makeshift map. His plan is good and Michonne finds herself surprised when he reveals that he delivered pizzas before the apocalypse started.

He catches her off guard when he looks straight up at her and asks, "Will you come with me and watch my back?" He indicates the point on the map where they two of them will be stationed. "Your sword is the quietest weapon we have. And the fastest. You took that pack of walkers down almost single-handedly." Daryl makes an indignant noise from somewhere behind her, but Rick shoots him a glare and he unexpectedly shuts up. Michonne nods and stands up, her hands automatically going to the handle of her sword. She doesn't know why, but she trusts this kid. She doesn't usually trust people so quickly but something about the innocence in the young man's face pulls at her heart. He doesn't deserve a life like this one. None of these people do, but especially not someone with so much youth still in his eyes.

"I'll watch your back," she says, low so only he can hear her.

*****

Michonne slowly takes in her surroundings. The sterile white of the room, the smell of medical supplies, the coughing of the enfeebled. This is something she never thought she would experience again in such a world as this. She doesn't let her wonder show on her face, but she can't help but find herself in awe that such a place still exists.

The smell reminds her of her childhood. Of visiting grandparents in nursing homes and knowing that visits will never happen in their own homes again. She hates the way these places feel. They are so final. They speak of death disguised as something positive.

Of course, the whole world speaks of death now.

Rick has disappeared with the "leader" of this dysfunctional little old people's home and she eyes some of the bigger men distrustfully. Sure, they take care of their old people, and sure they stayed when no one else would. But people do rash things in situations such as these, and she doesn't trust that they won't turn on her little group.

Dammit, there it is again. Her group.

Before her thoughts can stray any further down that dangerous path she feels a tugging on her shirt, oddly reminiscent of Carl just the night before. She looks down to see the little old woman who saved their skins staring up at her.

"Hurt," she says in her broken English, and at first Michonne doesn't know what she is talking about. "You are hurt." She gently places a hands on Michonne's shoulder where Rick's handkerchief is steadily turning redder and redder. She hadn't noticed that the wound was still bleeding, but she winces when the old woman touches it.

"Come," the woman says, turning and walking away in a manner that clearly states that she fully expects Michonne to follow her without question.

"I'm fine," Michonne mutters, buy the woman either doesn't hear her or plays deaf.

*****

Michonne's newly cleaned and bandaged shoulder throbs as the group makes the long trek back to camp on foot. She almost couldn't believe that their truck had been stolen, but on the other hand she has to ask herself what else she could have possibly expected. With the world gone to hell everyone is scavenging. Hadn't she only just been thinking about this in the old people's home about an hour ago?

The group is silent as they shuffle along. At first they had all been on the alert, watching for walkers to come out of nowhere. But as the day wore on and camp began to feel further and further away they had begun losing their stamina until they watched their feet more than their surroundings. The only sounds coming from the group are heavy breathing and footfalls.

Michonne almost doesn't notice when Rick shuffles through the group until he is walking beside her. He keeps his voice low, almost as though he doesn't want to be heard. Michonne spares a glance up and sees that Daryl is once again watching her. She isn't surprised that whatever Rick wants to say he also doesn't want known by the rest of the group.

"I just wanted to let you know," he begins, trying to catch his breath around the words as they begin up a particularly steep incline. "That I trust you. We wouldn't have made it out of the city without you. You've proven yourself more than worthy, and you are more than welcome to stay with our group." He looks up and catches her eye. Her brow furrows, not expecting this from him and yet knowing that it was inevitable. "Just think about it. You don't have to make your decision right now. But you would be safer in a group and the group would be safer with you. Think about it."

Michonne is silent for a few minutes. They are almost back at the camp now. If she looks hard, she can see the faint glow of their campfires. Could she stay? It's a thought she has been fighting with all day long. She has convinced herself from the beginning of this whole fiasco that she works better alone, but does she really? How can she possibly know if she has never given a group a try?

She opens her mouth to answer Rick when suddenly the sound of screams reaches their ears. The group freezes as Michonne's wide eyes meet Rick's and they simultaneously break into a run. The screams are coming from the camp.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Walking Dead.

Michonne stops for a moment, running the back of a gloved hand across her sweating forehead. She breathes deeply, still trying to fully process what has taken place over the past four hours or so. Blinking in the sunlight, she looks around at the rest of the camp. The sight is decidedly grisly, there's no denying that. The bodies of fallen comrades are only distinguishable from the bodies of walkers by the absence of rot. She cringes inwardly when her eyes land on a walker that stumbled into the fire before being shot. It burns and blackens, skin peeling away from the heat of the flames that are rapidly dying down. She averts her eyes, choosing to take in the rest of the camp instead.

Rick and Glenn are busy lining up bodies to be buried. Glenn was particularly adamant about this job after Daryl hinted that he wanted to just burn all of the bodies instead of taking the time and risk of burying them. It took her a little off guard to see the young man so upset, but she finds that she can sympathize. The idea of taking the bodies of people they knew and throwing them carelessly into a fire turns her stomach. She didn't know anyone in this camp very well and even she knows better than that. Sure, she understands the safety concern, but she also knows deep down that that is probably not what Daryl really cares about.

Instead of fighting to get his way Daryl has busied himself with shooting their dead comrades in the head to be sure that they don't reanimate. She finds herself struggling not to wince every time she hears the sound of his arrow connecting with a skull. There are so many dead. Michonne sighs and shakes her head. If only they had gotten here sooner. If only the people back in the city hadn't distracted them and made them take longer than necessary. She understands why Rick did what he did, and there was no way she would have wanted them to leave Glenn behind. But while those people gained guns as protection the small group of survivors lost people. Their best form of protection.

She turns around, preparing to get back to work when her eyes land on Carl and the little girl sitting on the steps of the RV in the shade. They take in the scene with wide eyes and childish innocence and Michonne finds herself wishing that they would go inside instead of watching. The sight is too horrible for children their age. But she also knows that they can't remain innocent; that being innocent in a world such as this is dangerous. This is a different world now and the children need to see what is happening so they can be mentally armed against it.

She walks over and crouches down on the kids' level, trying to catch their eyes. They look past her, visibly flinching every time Daryl drives an arrow into the head of a corpse. It's brutal that they have to see this and Michonne can see tears welling in both children's eyes. They have to grow up and accept what has happened to their world, but they also don't have to be subjected to such brutality.

"Hey," she says, waving a hand to try to get their attention. When they continue to ignore her she grabs Carl's chin and forces his face around to look at her. He jumps at the contact, pulling away though her touch is gentle. His wide eyes finally focus on her, tears finally winning out as he gives into childish sobs. He practically jumps into her arms and she holds him tightly the way she knows children like to be held when they are upset.

She locks eyes with the girl who is watching Carl. Her expression is blank even as she takes in everything that is happening around her. Michonne recognizes the expression—the girl is trying to shut out everything that is going on around her. Michonne cautiously reaches out for her but the girl jerks away.

"Ok," she says, pulling her hand away and holding it up so the little girl can see. "It's ok. You don't have to trust me. I understand."

The girl watches her for a moment longer. "My daddy says you're a—" she cuts herself off, face screwed up as though she is having some sort of internal battle with herself. There is a long pause. The girl takes a shuddering breath and says, "I don't believe what my daddy says. He says bad words." She stares hard at Michonne. "I don't think you're a bad word."

Michonne allows a small smile to cross her face despite herself. "I try not to be," she replies. Carl has stopped crying, his sobs reduced to sniffles as he listens to their conversation. The girl lowers her gaze to the ground.

"I don't have to listen to my daddy anymore anyway," she mumbles so low that Michonne almost doesn't catch her words. She can hear sadness in the girl's voice, but there is a hint of hope there as well. It's small, but it's there.

"That's true," Michonne says, just as quietly as the girl. She reaches a hand out again cautiously and this time the child takes it. She doesn't break down and cry like Carl, but there is a desperation in the way she squeezes Michonne's fingers. It's such an adult gesture that Michonne finds herself taken aback.

"My name is Michonne," she says softly, wanting to introduce herself though she knows Carl has probably already told the girl everything he knows about her. "I'm sorry about your daddy. Trust me, I know it hurts. But you're safe now." Her words have more meaning than one, and even though the child is so young she can tell by the look in her eyes that she has picked up on the double meaning.

"I'm Sophia," she replies through the tears that have spilled over. "Can—can we be friends?" She looks so hopeful that Michonne can't help but smile again.

"Of course we can," she replies. Her mind screams at her to stop, to remember that she still does not intend to stay with these survivors. But her heart won't let her extinguish the hope that shines in Sophia's eyes.

Carl emerges from where he had his face pressed into Michonne's neck. "You're my friend too, right?" he asks quietly. Michonne allows the small smile to grow into a real one as she looks down at him. These children are making it harder and harder for her to remain detached, but she is beginning to find that she doesn't mind so much. She has missed interacting with children, missed the feeling of having young eyes look up to her with that childish admiration that fades so quickly as time passes.

"Of course," she repeats as he sits up and takes his seat back beside Sophia, rubbing his eyes.

There is a soft pause as something catches Sophia's attention. Michonne curiously follows her gaze to where Andrea sits cradling her sister's dead body. She has been there all night, standing vigil over the deceased girl. Michonne has seen both Rick and Dale approach her with vastly different results and figures that it would be for the best to leave the woman alone. She knows what she is going through possibly better than anyone else in the camp. She knows that she needs her time to come to terms with what has happened to her sister.

"Will you be Andrea's friend too?" Sophia pipes up, breaking Michonne's train of thought.

"I don't think she wants a friend right now," Michonne replies, cautiously forming her words as she watches the blonde stroke her sister's blood matted hair.

"But she needs one!" Sophia insists, eyes welling up again. "She has no one now." Her voice drops sadly. "She's all alone."

Michonne raises an eyebrow. "She has Dale," she says, noting the disgruntled look on the children's faces with mild amusement.

"But Dale's a _boy_ ," she states, as though that fact settles the matter. Michonne smirks at the childish ideas of friendship.

"She was going to teach me how to fish," Carl interjects, and Michonne senses another bout of crying about to start.

"Ok you two," she says, standing up. Two sets of eyes follow her movement, still clinging to their childish innocence. Her own eyes scan the campsite, hoping to find something that the children can do to lead them away from the carnage and distract them from the scene playing out all around them. She is saved from this decision by Lori coming around the side of the RV. Carl runs to her and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his head in her stomach. Lori's eyes land first on Michonne then flit to Andrea and back. Michonne notices that the distrust from a few days ago is almost completely gone. Before she can speak Carl looks up to his mother.

"Michonne said she's our friend now," he says, and Michonne is relieved to see a big smile on his face despite the tears that still threaten to leak from his eyes. Lori meets Michonne's gaze and smiles.

"Did she now?" she says, not breaking the eye contact as she gives her son a squeeze. "You're lucky you have a friend who can keep you so safe, you know that?" She looks down at Carl with a smile before reaching out to Sophia. The girl hesitates for just a moment, looking up at Michonne as though she would rather stay and finish their conversation. But she gets up anyway, taking Lori's hand. She continues to stare at Michonne who realizes that somehow she is alright with being scrutinized in such a way. It's a feeling she has found herself missing.

Lori smiles down at the children before looking up and meeting Michonne's eyes again, her expression turning suddenly serious. "Rick told me what you did for them in the city. That they never would have gotten out alive if it weren't for you. Thank you. We should have never treated you the way we did," she shakes her head, looking disgusted at herself and the rest of the group. "We were scared. But if we let the Dixon brothers in...well, we should have trusted you much sooner. I'm sorry."

Michonne nods her acceptance. "I should get back to work," she says quietly. She ruffles Carl's hair and smiles at Sophia before turning back to the carnage, secretly wishing she could stay and talk with the children rather than finish the job that lay ahead.

By now the rest of the camp has set about finishing the job of cleaning the camp site. A line has been created on the opposite side of the RV from Andrea consisting of their own dead while the dead walkers form a pile to be burned a short distance away. They would prefer the smell not be so close, but the bodies are heavy and they need to conserve their energy for finishing the task ahead—burial.

On her way to join the others Michonne glances over to where Andrea still sits with her sister's body. She has been there all night, holding vigil over her deceased, and Michonne knows from experience that it's only a matter of time before Amy wakes up. She also know that she is not the only person in the camp whose mind the thought has crossed. By the dejected posture of the woman sitting by the RV she knows that there is no use in trying to move her or the body, but Michonne is worried that if something isn't done soon that more people will get hurt or killed.

"Why don't we just put a bullet through her head and be done with it?" She hears a voice off to her right and swivels around to see Daryl standing with Rick and T-Dog, looking at the same scene. "I could get a clean shot from here."

Michonne fumes, looking at the man in a way that would scare most smart people. Unfortunately, this man is not smart. Her expression does not go unnoticed by Rick and T-Dog, and Rick gives her a nod that says 'don't worry, that's not gonna happen.'

Michonne turns away from the men, looking at the sisters again. In her mind's eye she sees small hands grasping at her shirt and life fading from huge, frightened brown eyes. She knows exactly what is happening in Andrea's mind right now because the exact same storm raged in her own not long ago. Her situation ended differently, but only because she could not bear to see what she knows Andrea is holding vigil for. Her heart aches for the turmoil she knows is going on in Andrea's mind and heart. She still thinks the blonde is a little annoying, but her sympathy for the situation overrides petty annoyances.

Rick and T-Dog have successfully managed to shut Daryl up, and for his own good in Michonne's mind. She has been dying to injure the man since their first encounter and all he has done since then is confirm her dislike of him. She doesn't know where he wandered off to (to fall in the quarry and drown if it happened her way), but Rick and a few of the others are heading toward the makeshift gravesite to deepen the holes Jim dug to use to bury the bodies. She makes to follow them when there is an alarmed yell from just ahead of her. She looks up to see Jacqui stumbling away from Jim.

She is instantly on the alert. Even though she has not been with this group for very long, she has already identified Jacqui as one of the calmer members. She knows it must speak of something serious for her to be so alarmed.

"He's been bit," she hears Jacqui say as she continues to put space between herself and the man who suddenly looks like cornered prey. "Jim was bit last night." Michonne puts a hand on her shoulder in the hopes of calming the woman. She can already see a change in the other survivors' eyes; they are looking at the man as a threat when just a moment earlier he was a comrade.

Jim is stumbling over his words, trying to make excuses as he himself backs away from the advancing group. Michonne can see in his expression that he sees the same thing she does. She can almost see the group of survivors through the eyes of the man who is quickly being cornered and understands his panic well.

"No tolerance for walkers!" Daryl spits out, appearing again from wherever he had gone, his crossbow looking all too comfortable in his hands. He seems to have a special gift all his own for showing up at the first sign of trouble. She is beginning to think he can smell it. Her mind processes this thought and the sight of the crossbow before any of the other survivors have even fully wrapped their minds around what is happening. In a few long strides she leaves Jacqui's side and puts herself between Daryl's crossbow and Jim, a murderous glint in her eye.

"We don't harm the living unless we have to," she hisses, mirroring her remark to Shane the first day she found herself in these people's company. Despite the words that leave her mouth her hand itches to contradict her and reach for her sword in the face of this man who has crossed her one too many times. Daryl makes a face as though he is about to make a biting comment in return but Rick intercepts.

"We don't kill the living," he says, stepping forward. Even in the tension of the moment Michonne notes how he is becoming a leader despite his relative newness to the group. Even Shane, who seemed to be leading when she got here, listens to what he is saying. She sees him nod his agreement even as Daryl swears, not releasing his weapon.

"Y'all are shitting me," he says angrily, glaring around at the small group that has formed around the scene. "Fine, fine. Suit yourselves. Don't come cryin' to me when you get bit." He spits out the last word and turns, pushing his way through the other people. Michonne glares at his retreating back, wishing a bolt from the blue to strike him down.

Rick turns to where she still stands protectively in front of the man. She can see in his eyes that her gesture has not gone unnoticed. She takes a quick glance around the small circle of people, seeing his expression reflected on every face. Her pulse quickens, once again finding herself the center of attention. She drops her gaze to the ground, looking at hers and Rick's feet.

"I've got it from here," she hears him say, and steps to the side without looking up. He steps past her and leads the injured man away to the RV, presumably to keep him safe from the others now vying for his life. Michonne keeps her eyes trained on the ground, though she can hear the others begin to clear away to their respective tasks. She feels a hand on her shoulder and looks up to see Jacqui standing by her. She isn't looking at Michonne—her eyes are trained on the now closed door of the RV where she knows Rick is trying to make Jim as comfortable as possible in the oncoming fever. Michonne shrugs her hand off and stalks over to the pile of bodies waiting to be burned.

She knows that the world has gone to shit and that the regular human values don't necessarily come into play anymore, but taking a man's life just because he was bitten seems mental to her. She knows the inevitable. She knows that Jim will eventually have to be put down. She knows it just as surely as Andrea does sitting in front of the RV waiting on her sister to reanimate. But the difference between putting a bullet through Amy's head and putting one through Jim's is simple—a pulse.

The smell of the pile of bodies is enough to make her eyes water and her stomach turn, but she needs time to gather her thoughts before facing the group again. She looks down on the rotting flesh, the flies, the empty staring eyes. These people were alive once too. She and the other survivors tend to forget that when they are trying to eat their flesh, but deep down she can't help but feel a pang of hurt for these people. She would much rather go by a bullet to the head than wander around for who knows how long, unfeeling, unthinking, slowly rotting away. But the fact that someone can so quickly forget that someone who is still alive is just that—alive—is despicable. To her it speaks of a humanity lost before its carrier is even dead.

*****

Her hands find the sword and unsheathe it, the familiar sound of metal reaching her ears. Her whole body is tense, every muscle taut as she prepares for what she may have to do. She feels like a coiled spring, prepared to snap at any moment. To her left she notices that Rick too has pulled his gun and holds it at the ready. The other people in the group stand at attention, some armed, others watching fearfully to see the outcome of the scene playing out before them.

Amy has woken up.

Michonne can't hear exactly what is happening by the RV, choosing to keep a safe distance unless it appears that she is needed. She knows from experience that some walkers awaken groggy and slow moving. But she also knows that other awaken already hungry and geared to bite. From what she can see from this angle Amy is one of the slower moving walkers, but one can never be too sure. She doesn't want any more people bitten than can be helped.

She hopes no one has to be bitten.

Her heart hurts as she watches Andrea stroke her sister's hair one last time. Though she herself never had a sibling she has seen the level of devotion between these two sisters. And even if she hadn't it takes a lot of love to sit up all night with a dead body, covered in blood, waiting for reanimation just so a final goodbye can be said. She wonders for a moment if she would do it.

Then she remembers that she had the chance and didn't.

She almost starts as Amy begins to get her bearings and sits up. The walker's breathing rasps loud enough that even she can hear it, and she sees a blood covered hand close around a lock of Andrea's hair. Andrea is whispering something to her sister, making no move to get away, and suddenly a chilling thought crosses Michonne's mind. What if Andrea plans to go with her sister? Everyone is standing here, watching and waiting for the right moment to move in and do damage control before anyone gets hurt. But what if the woman doesn't want to be saved? What if her plan all along was to die with her sister and was only waiting the night out so she could do so?

Michonne lowers her sword slightly, brow furrowing. If the blonde truly wants to die with her sister, who is she to intervene? Though she herself has never considered ending it, she knows that there are many people who have. She wonders if she can claim the power of forcing someone to live when they want nothing more than to leave a world that has become as cruel as this one.

Before Michonne can come to a conclusion she hears the click of a gun cocking and barely has time to brace herself for the sound of the impact when Amy slumps into Andrea's arms dead a second time. She is silent, her sword dropping to her side as she allows the tension to ebb from her body. She feels her muscles unwind and takes in an unsteady breath. The sound of the blonde woman's sobs reach her ears and she notices that the rest of the group has begun to disperse to their designated tasks. She supposes she should follow and give the woman some privacy, but something roots her to the spot.

She watches as Dale tries to approach Andrea. He kneels beside her as Michonne had seen him do earlier. He tries to put an arm around her shoulders, but she jerks away, clinging to her sister's body like an expired lifeline. She can see that Dale is trying to talk to the woman, probably trying to convince her to allow them to bury the body, but to no avail. She is obviously consumed by grief, an emotion all too familiar to Michonne. It makes her uncomfortable, so she turns away to leave.

When she turns, Carl is standing there looking at the pair as well. There are tears in his eyes, but he doesn't allow them to spill over. She finds herself wishing once again that the child could be spared from seeing such things, and once again faces the internal battle of whether or not he should be forced to grow up before his time.

Suddenly he looks at her, and Michonne can see childish accusation in his eyes. She knows what he wants, Sophia's words echoing in her mind, but she merely cocks her head at him, brow furrowing. He breaks the eye contact and looks back at the sisters and Dale who has apparently given up and is sitting a few feet away from the two. Michonne sighs, sheathing her sword and turning back to the scene. She glances back at Carl, who gives her a small smile of encouragement.

When she reaches Andrea she stops, looking down at her. The blonde doesn't even notice her presence, too busy rocking her sister's body as though the girl can still feel the comforting gesture. She doesn't even know this woman. Why is she offering her comfort when she won't even accept it from someone who is as close to her as Dale seems to be?

And then it hits her. Andrea cared. When this group of survivors left Michonne sitting in the dirt thirsty and alone because of a selfish fear and an unwillingness to open up to someone new, Andrea cared. She brought her water and in her own childish naivety (not so unlike the boy whose eyes she can still feel boring into her back) trusted her when she didn't even know her.

She gently reaches down to put a hand on the woman's shoulder. She jumps so violently in response that Michonne feels a little guilty. She knows that her nerves are worn raw and her emotions are taking a roller coaster ride. In her current state there was probably no way she could avoid startling her. She kneels down on the ground and reaches out to brush a blood-matted strand of hair out of Amy's face. She notices how angelic the girl looks in death.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she says quietly, knowing both that the girl (only a child herself really) deserves the respect and that the situation hangs in the balance of what Michonne chooses to say. She feels rather than hears Andrea struggling to choke back a new round of sobs and hopes that she has said the right thing. She has never been good with words, especially in situation such as this. But the blonde nods and Michonne breathes a silent sigh of relief that the woman hasn't lashed out at her as she has to Dale and Rick. Her gun lies forgotten on the ground and to be safe Michonne carefully nudges it out of reach.

"We need to bury her," she murmurs, never one to beat around the bush. She sees the blonde's arm tighten around her sister's lifeless form and tenses, not liking the body language. "I didn't know her," she continues in a hurry. "But I don't think she would have wanted this. She would have wanted to go with some dignity left." Andrea's arms remain tight around the corpse, her knuckles turning white. Her face is obscured by her hair, so Michonne can't read her expression. But suddenly she goes slack as though all the energy has been drained from her. She carefully lies her sister's body down on the ground, stroking her face one last time. She nods her assent.

Michonne gets up from where she was kneeling, her knees protesting the movement. As she turns to scan the campsite for Rick, her eyes lock with Dale's. He looks shocked that she got through to Andrea but gives her a slight nod nonetheless.

_Well done._

*****

In the few months she has spent in this new world somehow she has forgotten the sounds that come with a funeral. Not to be confused with the sounds of mourning; she is all too familiar with those sounds and they are far from absent here. But the sounds of a real funeral, the respect for the dead, the solemn loved ones, have completely slipped from her memory.

She listens to the words spoken over mounds of earth that the rain will soon wash away until the graves are indiscernible from the rest of the ground. Plants will grow, flowers will bloom, animals will reclaim the land that was theirs from the beginning, and no one will remember the people that lie under this soil in graves that are far too shallow for them just because there isn't enough man power to finish the job. No one will remember that these people once laughed with their loved ones around a campfire that fades into the background of memories.

There are similar graves somewhere out there in the woods. Two of them. Smaller, but really the same. She thinks that she could find them if she tries hard enough and could regain her bearings. But would she really? Or has nature already disguised them in much the same way she knows it will disguise these?

Mother nature is both kind and cruel.

She feels a tear trace its way down her cheek and wipes it away quickly, startled. She hadn't even realized that she was crying. It's a weakness she doesn't like to display, but no one is paying her any mind anyway. Rick and his family are standing together in the little clump that seems to have become permanent since the man's seeming return from the dead. Shane is by Rick's side and Dale by his, hat in his hands. Carol and Sophia stand on the other side of the line of graves by what Michonne knows is their husband and father's grave. She notices that both of their faces are solemn but completely dry. Andrea crouches on the ground at the head of her sister's grave, one hand over her mouth and one in the freshly turned over dirt, unable to let her sister go even as she rests in the ground. There are tears streaming down Andrea's face and she makes no effort to wipe them away. T-Dog stands to her right, hands clasped behind his back as he speaks a prayer to finish up their little ceremony. Jacqui and the Morales family stand slightly behind Michonne, and she can hear steady sniffles coming from one or more of them. The only person missing from their party is Jim, who Rick has quarantined to the RV in an effort to keep Daryl (and anyone else wishing harm) away from him. Daryl stands slightly separate from the group, crossbow slung over his shoulder. His face is downcast as well and Michonne bows her own head as T-Dog finishes his prayer.

The group stirs, the spell of the words spoken not quite broken yet. They are silent, the only sound being that of shuffling feet and sniffling coming from several members. A few look around, unsure of what to do next. Michonne keeps her head bowed, eyes trained on the ground.

Then Andrea sits back on her heels and buries her face in her hands and the spell is broken. People begin to go their separate ways, some hugging each other, some giving Andrea a comforting pat on the shoulder in passing. She has lashed out so many times in the past twelve hours or so that people are unsure of what to do to comfort her. And as a result, comfort doesn't come.

"We should get the fires started," Michonne hears Rick say quietly to Shane, who nods. She intercepts them as they pass her.

"I can help," she says, her eyes daring anyone to contradict her. Before either of the men can say a word Glenn catches up with them.

"Me too," he says, and there is a desperation in his voice that is not reflected in Michonne's. She remembers his outburst about keeping the walkers separate from their loved ones and understands why he wants to be there.

Rick is silent for a moment, studying them both. Michonne is beginning to feel like a child under his scrutiny, but then he nods. "Alright," he says, and with a jerk of his head he begins to lead the way to where the walkers lie haphazardly in piles.

Michonne makes to follow the group but stops in her tracks when she hears someone behind her speak.

"You're bleeding."

She turns to see that Andrea has left her sister's grave and is now staring at her shoulder with a look akin to horror on her face. The dirt from her hands has mixed with her tears and the end result is both ghastly and heart-wrenching. Michonne tears her gaze away from the mournful woman and looks down at the now dirty and bloodstained bandage on her shoulder. She hadn't even noticed that it was bleeding again and figures that the physical activity of the day opened the wound afresh.

"Were you bit?" the blonde asks her, and suddenly her expression makes sense. Michonne realizes that she is thinking of Amy and Jim and quickly tries to calm the woman's nerves.

"I'm fine," she says quietly, very conscious of the men still standing behind her waiting to start the fires. She wishes they would just go on their way and stop staring. "It's not a bite." If it were a bite she would have asked to be put down already, but she chooses not to share this particular bit of information with Andrea.

Andrea nods, drawing a shaky breath and looking like she might be sick. She turns and slowly makes her way back to the RV. Michonne watches her retreating figure for a moment before turning back to where the men are waiting for her. She notices a peculiar expression on Rick's face but chooses to ignore it as she steps up to stare him in the eye.

"I accept your invitation," she says, carefully measuring the words she hadn't expected to come out of her mouth. Images of Carl and Sophia crying flash by her vision only to be replaced with Andrea's dirt streaked face. Her heart pounds and adrenaline rushes through her veins at the risk of the decision she has made so suddenly.

"I'm staying."


End file.
